


i know your weakness. (it’s kisses.)

by faorism



Series: triple berry crumble [2]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Overprotective Parents, Part of series but can be read on its own, Sharing a Bed, fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faorism/pseuds/faorism
Summary: Gumball’s parents meet Marshall Lee disturbingly early in theirthing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a counterpart to [put a polly in your pocket](http://archiveofourown.org/works/729035), but it can probably be read separately. just know that: yes, marshall lee can be a butt especially with the “princess” thing, but eventually he gets sorted out (in the overall verse) and he's always aware that gumball thinks of the name fondly.

Gumball’s parents meet Marshall Lee disturbingly early in their _thing_. 

By then, Marshall Lee had reached out to Gumball for six distastefully named “bootie calls.” Gumball doesn’t know how Marshall Lee managed to program his number into Gumball’s phone and text himself without Gumball noticing; Gumball had his eye on him as they had left the club after dancing to a couple of songs, fucked slow and rough in Marshall Lee’s claustrophobic studio four blocks away, and shared a paltry nine minutes of afterglow before Gumball left to catch a bus that would get him home in thirty-five minutes instead of an hour and twenty. 

There should have been no time for Marshall Lee’s magic trick. Gumball can’t say that he was upset, however, when his Thursday shift at _Candy Kingdom_ was interrupted by the text _U devastated me last wk, my place for a 2nd rnd? Tonite maybe 9_ from Marshall Lee. 

Gumball checked the first message in the conversation history and found one Marshall Lee wrote to himself: _Gumbll: yt boy w pink hair n bad clthes_. Even seeing the crude reminder and begruding the comment about his wardrobe, Gumball sent a quick _Make it 9:30. See you._ Although at the time he said yes mostly as a reward for Marshall Lee’s audacity, Gumball agrees five more times because it’s nice not to haunt the bars every time he wants to make out or—as is the case with Marshall Lee—something more. 

Gumball expects to arrange a seventh such occasion when he is brushing his teeth and his phone vibrates from a text message from Marshall Lee. 

It’s unusual: it’s midnight, too late to meet up and Marshall Lee isn’t organized enough to make these calls earlier than the day of. Gumball leaves the toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he picks up his cell from the counter. 

_Heyy_ , it says, _idk if ur even up, but had a gig in yur hood n am kinda drunk but mstly tired, can i come overe??._

Gumball resists the urge to pretend he is asleep so as not to deal with Marshall Lee. He finishes brushing before he responds, typing as he leaves the bathroom to his room. _Very sexy but no, I am not sleeping with you like this. And you know I live with my parents._

Gumball’s on his bed triple-checking his assignments for the week when he gets another text. _Sry wasnt clear. Can i crash.? No sex. I kno we dont do this but nxt bus is in forever n i got my basss. No pressure.._

His instinct is to say yes. Gumball even thumbs over the reply before before he stops himself, wondering if he should feel more hesitant to answer affirmatively. 

Before Marshall Lee, Gumball only had relatively stable short-term partners, plus the occasional one night stand. He understood the boundaries of the relationship (however short) with every one of them. Gumball cannot say the same with Marshall Lee, or at least, not nearly to the same extent. Marshall Lee is friendly enough to make Gumball laugh when they’re curled up post-orgasm, and he once ordered Gumball some Chinese without prompting when Gumball came to him straight after classes; Marshall Lee always lets Gumball leave his studio with the implication there will be a next time. 

But, Marshall Lee only texts for sex and does not seem preoccupied with getting to know Gumball or sharing much about himself. Gumball never sleeps over Marshall Lee’s, and Marshall Lee hasn’t asked Gumball to stay. Six times is a small sample size, but there is enough of a pattern that Gumball knows he isn’t sure about what pattern there is. 

Despite not knowing the exact boundaries of their _thing_ , though, all of this works for Gumball; works really well actually, especially with midterms coming up on the horizon. 

LSP, who Gumball uses as a guide to casual sexual relationships, would say no to Marshall Lee’s text. Even if she prefers to hook new men rather than do repeats, LSP doesn’t ever shake up the boat if the boat’s been rocking well. 

But Gumball was not made for callousness, even if Marshall Lee won’t even think to register it as such. If Marshall Lee was willing to apologize, clarify without sass, and ask in the first place, Gumball knew enough about the guy to know that he must be desperate. Ignoring his LSP-trained suspicion, Gumball sends his address, and Gumball only has to wait fifteen minutes before Marshall Lee texts him: _Princtess drop dwn ur hair, its fukcin windy._

Shrugging on a cardigan, Gumball is quiet as he trails through the apartment barefoot, hearing his mother’s barrel snores as he walks by his parents’ room. It’s ridiculous that at nineteen, he is actually sneaking a boy in by his parents—didn’t this only happen in trashy sitcoms? 

Not as careful once he’s in the stairwell, Gumball jogs down to greet Marshall Lee, and he knows he made the right choice the second he pulls open the door. Marshall Lee looks like straight out of hell. He’s slumped in on himself more than usual, there are heavy bags under his eyes stained a deep mahogany, and he’s swaying like the movement is the only thing keeping him up. 

He manages a tight smile as he says, “Promise to behave. Scout’s honor.” 

At least he wasn’t slurring. Gumball drags him inside by the elbow. He grabs the sling of the bass bag, and Marshall Lee relinquishes it without objection. “You weren’t a Scout,” Gumball says, not bothering to wait until he turns back up the stairs. 

“Was too.” Marshall Lee leans heavily against the railing as he tries the stairs, opting out of skipping steps as he usually does to go up the stairs one at a time. “Course, got kicked out after three weeks. Shouldn’ta taught the rest of the guys how to make molotovs with our survival kits. But, you woulda thought they’ll give me a badge for my creativity or something. Who knows when ya need to start some anarchy in the middle of the fucking woods.” 

“You are a menace.” 

“Imma _saint_.” 

Gumball holds back his comment as they cross the threshold of the apartment. Marshall Lee’s red-rimmed eyes look all around the apartment, nosy about the space but unable to make out much in the darkness. Gumball realizes then how odd it is for him to have Marshall Lee here, to not know his last name (unless it’s actually Lee?) but to invite him in his home with his parents sleeping yards away. He knows Marshall Lee’s place, obviously, but there’s a strangeness about Marshal Lee squinting at the outlines of a couch there, a mirror here. The impatience of his curiosity makes Gumball smile. Thankfully he’ll see it all in the morning, or Marshall Lee might die from getting so close and figuring out so little. 

For now, Gumball points out his room, the bathroom, and the kitchen in stage whispers. “I am going straight to bed, but feel free to take a shower or raid the fridge. You won’t wake my parents.” 

Marshall Lee longingly stares at Gumball’s door but stops walking when they reach the bathroom. 

“Probably best not to bring my stink to your bed.” 

“Probably.” Marshall Lee smells like the first time they met: sweat, the dinge of a bar, and enough alcohol that it's obvious but not oppressive. He might not be the most pleasant to sleep next to, but he could be a lot worse. Gumball doesn’t personally care, but by the embarrassed quirk in Marshall Lee’s voice, Gumball decides not to push it. “Use whatever you need. No extra toothbrush, but your fingers can do for the day. Mouthwash is under the sink. Do you want pjs?” 

Marshall Lee shakes his head and turns on the light. The light halos his wavy hair, and he’s tired but destructively handsome, and Gumball unconsciously leans into Marshall Lee’s space. Marshall Lee hums, pleased, before reaching out to fiddle with the bass strap still strung up on Gumball’s shoulder. 

“Gonna be up when I’m done?” 

“Most likely not,” Gumball admits, feeling like he’s being a bad host for a moment before suppressing the unnecessary emotion. Marshall Lee nods slowly and he threads and unthreads his fingers through the bass strap. The motion of the fingers rocks off-time from the way Marshall Lee is still swaying from his drunkenness, and there’s also a mischievous smirk writ into his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Gumball to say or do something else. 

Gumball doesn’t think he’s forgotten something, but can’t think of anything other than… maybe wishing Marshall Lee goodnight? And he’s checking Gumball’s lips like he’s ready for a kiss, but... would it be weird for a goodnight kiss if they didn’t and aren’t planning to have sex? It’s just.. He likes kissing Marshall Lee, and he’s here and smirking the smirk that Gumball _knows_ means he wants a peck and… 

And Gumball is weak to that fucking mouth. 

A french kiss would be too much, right? But a chaste peck on the lips would be too intimate… A smooch to ease the edge off would just taste like stale beer, and maybe wouldn’t be worth it in the end. 

Gumball isn’t usually so indecisive, but in his tipsy exhaustion Marshall Lee is being unusually timid with his body language, and Gumball is too distracted by the promise of his pillow to pick up any more slack in this conversation than he already has. 

The decision over the kiss is made, unfortunately, when the door to his parents’ room yanks open and Mr Trunks stands at the threshold blinking beadily at the bathroom light. Gumball jumps back, pulling Marshall Lee’s hand along from where it’s trapped under the strap. Marshall Lee ebbs on his feet, and the concentration it must take him not to fall over must be heroic. 

Heat blares up on Gumball’s cheeks, preemptive mortification twisting his stomach into knots, and he is glad that, at the very least, he did not yelp in surprise. 

“Oh, hello! I… didn’t think you would be up at this hour!” 

Mr Trunks is shorter than Gumball, but even with his height and his sleepiness obvious in the slump of his shoulders, the long-suffering stare his father gives Gumball makes Gumball feel two feet tall. Shifting his weight between his feet, Mr Trunks holds his arms akimbo, hands fisted at his wide waist. He poses an impressive figure in his fluorescent pink pajamas. 

Mr Trunks looks between Marshall Lee and Gumball as he says, “Your mother has shared a good twenty-two years with me, and you would think by now she would know how to share a bed without pushing me straight off it every other month. I’ve given that woman the moon and the stars, and all I get are kicks to the tush. Worth it,” Mr Trunks ends, settling his gaze on Marshall Lee when Marshall Lee’s hand finally slips out from under the bass strap to rest at his side. Although Marshall Lee can hold his liquor, Gumball can see a distinct pinch of nausea cross his face from the attention. “But it’s a crying shame I got to line the floor with pillows when I feel a kick a'coming. I was just picking myself up when I heard, uh, a few mice scurrying around. Know anything about that, son?” 

Let Gumball die where he’s standing. “I believe it was just us. Marshall Lee, my father, Mr Iggy Trunks. Father, this is Marshall Lee. He’s a… a close acquaintance of mine. Buddies, really.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Marshall Lee says before he can stop himself, and there is a surprised look that crosses Mr Trunks’ face that Gumball doesn’t hope to untangle right now. Marshall Lee seems to understand it well enough, however, and his expression sours suddenly with regret. “Nah, nope, didn’t mean that. Ignore me, uh, Mr Trunks, sir.” Marshall Lee bobs his head in a belated greeting, and this sudden pass at politeness is more manners than Gumball has seen from him in all six times he’s seen Marshall Lee combined. 

At least Mr Trunks seems more exasperated than suspicious now. Thankfully Mr Trunks is not as insistent to take Marshall Lee’s hand in a handshake as he would have with Gumball’s friends that are obviously more sober. “Looks like you’ve seen better days.” 

“Father, there’s no need for interroga &mdash:” 

“Just need a shower and a pillow,” Marshall Lee interrupts. “Didn’t get sleep last night. Neighbor’s brother’s visiting, and his kid has got colic. Then I worked and played a set down by 85th Street, and asked Gumball if I can sleep over.” 

The explanation, which Gumball himself is only hearing now for the first time, should be enough for Mr Trunks, but he’s scanning Marshall Lee’s face like a puzzle. “How old are you, again?” 

Gumball’s stomach drops. Marshall Lee glances at him, probably realizing at the same time as Gumball that they never told each other their ages. 

“Twenty-three.” 

Oh, so Marshall Lee’s ID was his real ID. That… was surprisingly legal of him. 

“Hm. There’s eight years difference between me and Treen, so I guess judging you for four between _buddies_ would be a little hypocritical.” Marshall Lee’s lips purse as he does the math, but he doesn’t sneak another glance. Mr Trunks finally turns his attention back to Gumball. “Run off you, and let the kid shower. Keeping up a working man is bad for business, whatever business he’s up to.” 

Mr Trunks doesn’t leave the threshold so they can say their goodnight, so there’s a high chance there’s a few more words Mr Trunks wants to share with Marshall Lee without his son’s presence. Gumball knows this because, much to Gumball’s exasperation, Mr Trunks has always been a reasonable man in most areas of his life except anything that has to do with Gumball’s relationships; his pigheadeded determination to protect Gumball led to many of his ex-boyfriends and girlfriends dumping Gumball after the conversation. Granted, one had only been dating him to get all the answers for his science homework, and one had been desperately in love with her best friend for years, and a third—Okay, so even _if_ Mr Trunks had successes in the past which had kept Gumball from greater heartbreak in the future, that did not afford him access to _Marshall Lee_. It might be different if they were dating, or if they formally committed in some way, or if this wasn’t only the seventh time they had ever seen each other. 

Marshall Lee and Gumball have a thing so tenuously new that Gumball refuses to talk about even with Pepper Butler or LSP (despite the former’s veiled references to experimental truth serum, and the latter’s tortured declarations of Gumball’s betrayal). 

It’s a thing that surprises Gumball with how jealous he is to make it last; a thing that twitches his fingers toward his phone in anticipation for Marshall Lee’s next text. 

It’s something that, for once, his father’s well-intentioned invasion into his personal life seems too much for. Gumball has not been an unruly child to Mr Trunks in years, yet the flush of an oncoming temper tantrum floods Gumball’s face. No, he won’t walk away, Gumball imagines himself snapping, because he wants to stay with Marshall Lee and see this through; a guy—especially one you are having sex with regularly and not actually dating—should not have to deal with this alone. 

Gumball both is and isn’t surprised by the budding warmth he feels at this impulse, nor can he remember what he hopes to say when he begins opening his mouth to respond. It is Marshall Lee’s hand finding Gumball’s shoulder that stops Gumball. 

“Dude.” 

Clasped together Marshall Lee’s fingers against his shoulder are a heavy, calming weight. Gumball has had that hand on him like this before, holding him still, holding him down, holding him. Gumball remembered this grip from the night Marshall Lee caught Gumball’s pained grimace as Marshall Lee fucked him; Marshall Lee didn’t let the solid presence of his hand go until he confirmed Gumball was okay. (It wasn’t fun explaining the whole “I have horrible sex faces, please ignore it, I’m surprised you did not notice the first four times” thing, but it wasn’t bad either with Marshall Lee’s fingers tapping a heartbeat against his collarbone.) Not bothering to censor his movements, Gumball’s body sighs into the touch, not caring if Mr Trunks makes assumptions even more erroneous based on this particularly affectionate exchange. 

Marshall Lee smiles as if he can sense Gumball’s building surrender through their touch. “I get it. Parental units like to know ‘bout the kids their kid has playdates with. ’s cool.” Marshall Lee slides his hand an inch closer to Gumball’s neck, and his thumb moves up and over the curve of Gumball’s shirt collar. Knowing his father was standing three feet away from him was all that kept Gumball from finding the soft pulse of Marshall Lee’s knuckles with his lips. Marshall Lee pats Gumball’s chest twice before withdrawing his support with a “See you inna bit.” 

And that’s really all it takes. Gumball can’t stomach seeing his father’s reaction to this display, so Gumball quickly grumbles a goodnight to both Mr Trunks and Marshall Lee and walks determinedly to his room. 

(If he cannot drop the haughtiness from his voice or if his bedroom door slams a little too loudly behind him, no one complains.) 

Gumball slumps into bed and strains to hear Mr Trunks and Marshall Lee through the door. He makes out his name a few times and not much else, but the pillow he has his head against is singing a siren song, and he drifts off despite himself. He is still mostly dreaming when the warm press of another body shifts into bed beside him. He does not bother to turn around to assess the damage left by his father, nor does he reposition himself to cuddle up against Marshall Lee as Gumball usually does with people sleeping over. 

Marshall Lee has other plans; he shuffles around until he’s up against Gumball’s back with a hand slung over Gumball’s waist. His mouth touches the shell of Gumball’s ear with a small kiss. Gumball, god help him, swoons into the pillow despite himself. 

“Awake?” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Marshall Lee laughs, rustic and awful and low and slightly sobered up. They are close enough that Marshall Lee’s still-wet hair sweeps gently across Gumball’s cheek; it’s a small blessing that he smells like Gumball’s shampoo and conditioner rather than either of his parents’. 

“Was my father as ridiculous as I dread?” Gumball is very proud that he is still articulate enough to string this sentence together. 

“Under the impression we’ve been together for months, no clue why, but he was fine. Even handed me a slamming slice of pie when I got out of the showering: plate, fork, napkin, and all.” Gumball groans. “Nah, it was sweet. Ya gotta sweet dad. Your ma, on the other hand…” 

Gumball nearly jumps up at the mention of his mother, but the crook of Marshall Lee arm slotted over the curve of Gumball’s side keeps him steady. Grounded. 

“I think your dad woke her up so she'd be there when I was done.” 

“Ah. He would. Would want to make sure you met them both in case they couldn’t catch you during your morning walk of sha—ah, walk of contentedness that comes from adults consenting to share a bed together, like adults are wont to do when it is late and travel would be ill-advised.” 

Gumball is confident that that sentence made sense, although judging by the pitying laugh by his ear, between his sleep-heavy tongue and Marshall Lee’s buzz something might have gotten lost in translation. No matter: Marshall Lee still settles next to Gumball more comfortably, with his cheek resting against the cropped back of Gumball’s pink hair. Marshall Lee’s warm breath ripples against Gumball’s hairline. 

Gumball’s nodding off again, so Marshall Lee takes this as an invitation to continue, quieter but impatient, like this is the last chance he has to tell Gumball this. “In five minutes, your mama proved she’s the sassiest, most outrageous white lady ‘ve ever met, and the only reason she ain’t top of everyone is that I grew up with the women in my family. She musta been a trouble-making minx of a woman since before she could walk, I fucking swear.” Gumball manages a small kick to Marshall Lee’s ankle. “Hey hey okay, I get it: no talking about your mama. (Use your words next time, princess.) But ya know, I think she hit on me? Pretty sure she did, but hard to tell knowing your dad was like three yards from. My fault, though. Shouldn’ta joked in front of your dad about us being, you know...” 

A yawn cuts Marshall Lee off. It’s obnoxiously loud next to Gumball’s ear, and Gumball squirms away as Marshall Lee smacks his lips recovering from the yawn. It’s made even more gross by Marshall Lee’s warm, mouthwash-and-beer breath on the back of Gumball’s ear. But still, once Marshall Lee has settled, Gumball allows Marshall Lee to pull him back into his arms. 

Gumball should apologize for his parents; should let Marshall Lee know he is always welcome to crash if he needs it; should let Marshall Lee know he would like to watch him play one day; should ask just how Marshall Lee would end his sentence. Now, it’s too late, and Marshall Lee’s too tipsy; Gumball guesses he can always wait until the next text to figure this all out some more. 

Which assumes, of course, there will be a next text. But as Marshall Lee’s breathing peters out into calm, even exhales tickling Gumball’s neck, Gumball thinks that it’s a safe assumption to make. 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written part of a longer, abandoned-on-my-drive 5+1 started four years ago that i never got around to finishing. well, i finished this part, 2/5s that i didn't like and nothing else. finally posted this scene in response to a prompt from [wehaveallgotknives](http://wehaveallgotknives.tumblr.com) asking for a fic written in response to asofterworld's: "I know your weakness. It’s kisses. You are doomed. (Don’t worry. We’re all doomed eventually.)"


End file.
